Page 2 of Geoffrey the Very Strange
"Your first Geoffrey the Very Strange encounter!" Her pointed little gnome ears wiggled at him in amusement. "Now you officially work here."
"That's his name?"
"It's what everyone calls him."
Aspic twitched his tail and smacked her on the hip. "You deserted me. Traitor."
"Trial by fire. Everybody has to learn to deal with the town eccentrics." She tried to punch him in the shoulder and couldn't quite reach high enough. At least she missed his elbow.
"Oh great," Aspic muttered, rubbing his arm. "Eccentrics. Plural. So what's his story?"
"He's a necromancer—"
"What? You let them intown?"
"Cool your horns." Heliotrope waved a hand at him as she climbed onto her stool behind the counter. "Theoretical necromancer. Interested in the occult science of death, not taking over the world. He has some weird ideas, but he's harmless."
"Uh-huh. Necros are never harmless. Why does he need his head covered?"
"His hat and coat have special wards. Protection. Not sure against what. Probably other necromancers. Never met a necro who wasn't paranoid." Heliotrope shrugged. "His beetles won't hurt the stock—he's right about that. Dire just doesn't want other customers seeing bugs in the store."
Aspic wasn't sure he would ever be comfortable enough to call Mr. Talondon by his first name, but Heliotrope had known him for years. "And his speech, um, issue? With the wrong words?"
"I think it happens more when he's nervous." She had the gall to wink at him. "I think you made himverynervous."
"Not like I can help how I look." Aspic struggled to keep his smile from sliding away.
"Oh, sweetie. I didn't mean he was scared of you. Well, not in the scared-of-demons kind of way."
He met her gaze, eyes dancing with laughter, and finally caught on. "Oh.Oh. Flattering, but nothing close to any of my types."
"Heartbreaker." Heliotrope snickered, then pulled the book of suppliers out from under the counter. "Now. Let's see who can get us a bulk order of seashells."
Paranoid.Aspic understood that. He still couldn't get used to walking home from work with his head uncovered, his tightly curled pink hair a glaring beacon that in other towns, in other counties, would've been a klaxon call to the constabulary, to every bigot within shouting distance, that here was someone different, someone who didn't belong.
Merseton… This town had little in common with any other place he'd been. Here, his employer was a lycanthrope who didn't care who Aspic was as long as he worked hard and didn't eat the stock. His co-workers were a gnome, a minotaur, and a sylph. The blacksmith was a fire elemental. The baker, a kitchen witch. Griffins ran the town's cozy little library.
It was a classic small town with two cobbled roads—Marigold Street and Mallow Street—and a cute little square with a fountain where the roads intersected at the center of town. Unpaved or gravel side streets and alleyways led to more residences and the town's single livery stables. The town only had a single anything when Aspic thought about it.
Shops were located on either Marigold or Mallow with residences in between and on the edges of town before the land gave way to the surrounding farmland, and finally, thick evergreen forest. The entire population, including the farms, couldn't have been more than three hundred people.
He whistled softly as he pushed open the gate to the rooming-house garden. Mrs. Pickle, his hedgehogfolk landlady, nodded to him before she went back to weeding her turnips. Sometimes, he helped her in the garden—they would chat and share the slugs they picked off the lettuce—but today he felt wrung out. The necromancer incident had been more than a little unnerving.
Nap before dinner. Just a quick one.
"Get fired from your new job yet, Ass-pick?"
Great. Aspic closed his eyes for a deep breath and dredged up his social smile again as he found the speaker at the top of the stairs. His obnoxious pixie neighbor must have finished early at the glassblower's. "Hello, Cormac. No. Not yet."
"Just a matter of time." Cormac pointed at him. "Youare gutter trash. Mrs. Pickle might have a soft spot for you, but Dire Talondon's going to figure it out soon enough. I've seen enough of your kind to know. You'll always be trash, demon spawn, and they'll kick you back into the gutter soon enough."
Cormac cackled as he flew down the stairs and out the door, the carved bone necklace that declared his lineage clacking musically, his dragonfly wings shimmering in the late-afternoon sun.
Pretty wings. Pixies were always pretty. Cormac was devastatingly beautiful, but his heart was full of muck. Also, he reminded Aspic of an old boyfriend. The temptation factor had plummeted the moment they'd met, and Cormac had opened his mouth.
Now his heart hammered from the mild confrontation. A nap would turn into staring at the ceiling and replaying every awkward or horrible conversation in his life. That would lead to all the memories of hiding from beatings or hiding from the heavy booted steps of soldiers or hiding from the latest batch of humans who wanted to run him out of a city or worse.No nap, then.
He left his good shoes by the front door and went back out to the front garden to kneel across the vegetable bed from Mrs. Pickle.
